


A Year And A Day

by all_not_well



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: D/s, Dirty Talk, Discipline, Exhibitionism, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Oral Fixation, Orgasm Denial, Slavery, Submission, Threesome/Moresome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_not_well/pseuds/all_not_well
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not just about the debt anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Year And A Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the HP Kink 'n Squick Summer Fest at kink-n-squick on Livejournal.

Knuckles rapped on his door. Scorpius woke with a start, and narrowly missed hitting his head on the low-pitched ceiling above his mattress.

“Time to get up, Scorpius,” said a deep, pleasant voice. Scor heard the snick of the lock sliding back. 

That would be Albus, of course, Scor thought muzzily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Which meant that he didn’t need to rush - at least, not just yet.

He could hear sounds from the kitchen - low voices, drawers opening and closing, cupboard doors slamming shut, the rattle of teacups on the table. Scor scooted around in his cramped space until he could lie on his back, with his knobby knees pressed up tight against the ceiling. He tried to remember the dream he’d been having. He thought it might have been a good one - he’d been warm, at least, and somewhere green and peaceful. He shivered and rubbed vigorously at his arms, trying to bring some of that imagined warmth back into his limbs.

A fist thudded against wood, heavy enough to rattle the door on its hinges. “Are you up yet, elfling?” This voice was deeper still - definitely James, Scor decided with a frown. He preferred Albus.

“I’m coming, Sir,” Scor said.

James grunted. “Well, get a move on. I’m hungry.”

“Yes, Sir.” Scorpius permitted himself a small, weary sigh before he reached above his head to push the door open.

It was a tight fit, crawling in and out of the cupboard, which had originally been built for a house elf. Scor’s masters had magically enlarged the interior, just enough so that Scor could fit completely inside, if he drew his legs up and hunched his back a little. But they’d left the door as it was, and seemed to enjoy watching Scor struggle to get through the narrow opening.

Scor managed not to whimper when the door frame scraped roughly against his bare back. Things went so much better for him when he didn’t complain.

“Good morning, Sirs,” Scor said as he scrambled ungracefully to his feet. He got an unintelligible mutter from Teddy, who was already half-hidden behind his morning paper, and a smiling glance from Albus, but no response from the other two. Not that Scor had expected any, really. He was too far beneath his masters to be worthy of their acknowledgement, and he was grateful for whatever meager crumbs of their attention that they cared to spare him.

He didn’t need to be told what to do by now, as he’d long since grown used to the routine. He was permitted precisely five minutes in the loo. He usually took four, because they’d put a timer on the door, and Scor had learned early on not to let it run out. Once his grooming was complete, he was to don his frilly white apron - the only clothing he was permitted to wear, and then only while he cooked. Then he was to fix breakfast for the household. And today was Saturday, which meant they’d want the full English.

The household at Grimmauld Place consisted of four grown men - one widower, and three bachelors. Teddy Lupin, the widower, owned the house, though he shared it with his foster brothers, James and Albus Potter, and their cousin, Hugo Weasley. Scorpius did not count himself as one of their number. He was only their little elfling, after all, a barely-adequate replacement for their deceased house elf Kreacher. Hardly anyone else even knew that Scor lived there, since he was not permitted to serve when there were guests in the house.

Scorpius’s father knew. He didn’t understand, of course, but that was all right. Scor did his best to make up for his father’s many shortcomings.

“Scorpius,” Al said softly as he came up to stand behind Scor at the stove. “You’re bleeding.”

Cool fingers pressed against the raw place on Scor’s exposed back. Scor sucked in a harsh breath, then let it out slowly as a tingle of magic flowed over the wound, easing the sting a little. Al’s arms came up ‘round Scorpius’s waist then; his hard cock slid along the cleft of Scor’s arse, their skin separated only by the thin silk of Al’s boxers.

Scor tilted his head so that Albus could nibble lightly at his neck, but he kept a close eye on the bacon. It would never do to let his masters’ breakfast burn.

\--

On the weekdays, while his masters worked, Scorpius had a lengthy list of chores to keep him busy. It amused him, sometimes, to remember that he’d had to be shown how to do most of those chores when he first arrived at Grimmauld Place. He could have done them in his sleep now. In fact he frequently dreamed of scrubbing floors on his hands and knees, or folding basket after basket of clean, sweet-smelling sheets.

On the weekends, however, Scor spent his time scrambling to answer to his masters’ every whim. And with four masters to please, it wasn’t always an easy task.

He liked it best when they took him in turns. That way he could devote himself fully to worshiping whichever master he happened to be with, in whichever way pleased them best. He knew what his masters liked, now, and it was easy to fall into a rhythm, to abandon himself and become a vessel for his masters’ pleasure.

Most of the time, however, his masters were much less formal. They liked to share him, sometimes all together, sometimes passing him back and forth. Two masters were as easy to please as one, and Scor could manage three in a pinch - but having four masters could complicate things, because someone was always feeling left out. And there were many complications where his masters were concerned. Scor was often kept on his toes, trying to make sure he paid attention to the right master at the right time, so that he never inadvertently caused discord between them.

He liked to think they appreciated his efforts. It was difficult to tell, sometimes. He never dared to ask.

\--

Scor carefully set the last platter of food on the kitchen table. While his masters served themselves, talking quietly together about matters that did not concern him, Scor moved a respectful distance away from the table, clasped his hands together behind his back, and lowered himself to his knees.

His masters paid him little attention while they ate, even when Scor’s stomach growled noisily from the sight and smell of so much food. He knew better than to close his eyes or try to look away. Instead he focused on his masters’ hands - the quiet scrape of forks against plates, the slow rise as food was lifted to their open mouths before the clean tines lowered again to spear another tidbit. Scor’s stomach clenched, and saliva pooled beneath his tongue.

Finally his patience was rewarded as a pair of freckled, long-fingered hands ripped a piece of buttered toast in half, tossing the smaller of the halves to land butter-side-down on the floor.

Scorpius slowly eased his way forward, careful not to show too much eagerness. When the food was in range he bent down, spreading his knees wide to brace himself. He used his mouth and nose to maneuver the bit of toast until he was able to sink his teeth into it; then he rose back onto his knees with the piece of toast still gripped between his teeth, being oh-so-careful not to bite through on the way up. He tilted his head back, letting the toast fall completely into his mouth before he finally allowed himself to chew and swallow. A bit of grit crunched between his teeth along with the toast, but he swallowed that down as well. Spitting it out would have been an insult to James’s generosity in giving Scor the food off his plate.

After that the bites began to come at regular intervals. Fruit and toast, a bit of tomato here, a rasher of bacon there. Never so fast that he couldn’t keep up, of course, but fast enough that his head spun, his knees began to feel scraped raw, and his breath came in harsh pants. His arms ached from being stretched taut behind him, but he only clasped his hands that much tighter together. He could barely feel his fingers anymore, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was making sure that his masters remained pleased with him, always.

His masters stopped feeding him long before he’d had his fill, lingering over tea and coffee while Scor caught his breath and tried to ignore his blurring vision.

Then Scor’s stomach growled again, drawing his masters’ attention to him once more.

“Still hungry, elfling?” Hugo asked with a grin.

Scor opened his mouth to reply, but James beat him to the punch.

“Yes, Sir, please, Sir,” James crooned in a high, sweet falsetto, drawing a laugh from his brother and cousin, and a rare smile from Teddy.

Scor smiled as well, pleased to have brought his masters some amusement.

“Come here, then, little elfling,” Hugo said. He pushed his chair away from the table and spread his legs wide. “You can have my cock, if you’re feeling greedy.”

Scor crawled forward, awkward on his knees, though he did not dare use his hands to steady himself. He was so dizzy with eagerness that he very nearly lost his balance; Hugo’s hands, sliding into his hair, were all that kept him upright.

“Merlin, look at him,” said James, laughing. “He still can’t get enough, the little cockslut.”

“No,” said Teddy quietly. “I don’t think that’s it.”

Distantly Scor heard Teddy’s chair scrape against the floor, but it hardly mattered to him as Hugo’s hands forced his head down. He nuzzled at the growing bulge in Hugo’s denims, savoring the warm, musky scent of arousal.

“Fuck,” said Hugo, his voice low and breathless as Scor mouthed the length of his denim-clad cock. “I am really going to miss this.”

Something about those words didn’t seem right, but Scor was so dizzy that he couldn’t think why that would be.

“Give him to me,” said Teddy suddenly, and Scor whimpered as he was pulled away from Hugo’s lap.

Hugo growled low in his throat, his hands still tangled in Scor’s hair and pulling hard.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Teddy snapped. “I’ll give him back in a minute.”

Another pair of hands came up to gently pull Scor’s hair free of Hugo’s grasp, and someone else pried his hands apart and rubbed them to get his circulation going again. Scor groaned as the feeling returned to his limbs.

Then a pair of vivid green eyes filled his vision. Scor smiled dreamily.

“Albus,” he whispered. 

Strong hands held Scor upright, and cool glass touched his lips. Scor choked as a viscous, cloyingly-sweet syrup coated his tongue.

“Swallow, baby,” Al murmured, and Scor did his best to obey, though some of the syrup escaped his lips to trickle down his chin.

The dizziness eased almost before he’d finished drinking the potion. And though his stomach still clenched, hollow and aching, it had at least stopped rumbling by the time he licked the last few drops from his lips. Al gently dabbed at the sticky spill on Scor’s chin with the corner of a tea towel.

“Better?” Teddy murmured in Scor’s ear.

“Yes, Sir,” Scorpius whispered. He could feel his face flushing with embarrassment. He ducked his head, unable to meet Al’s worried gaze.

“Great!” said Hugo. “Now can he suck my cock?”

\--

As much as he loved pleasing his masters in every way, Scorpius was certain that his greatest ability to please lay in his talent for giving head.

From his very first taste of cock - second year, Gryffindor prefect Adam Currington, in Moaning Myrtle’s loo while she watched avidly - Scor had known that this - only this - was absolutely what he had been born to do. And from then on he took every available opportunity to practice, until the whole school was calling him the Hufflepuff Whore, and saying he sucked cock the way a Dementor sucks souls, and lining up to ask for more.

Oh, he loved eating pussy out as well, and he never turned it down when it was offered. But nothing could compare to the hot, heavy weight of a cock on his tongue, or the spurt of bitter come down the back of his throat.

And out of all his masters, Scorpius particularly loved giving head to Hugo. Not because Hugo had the best-shaped cock - Teddy’s was longer, James’s was thicker, and Al’s was so perfect it was practically divine. But Hugo had staying power. He liked a slow, patient build-up, the nuzzling and the licking and the soft wet kisses all over. He liked his balls licked and sucked and ever-so-gently nibbled upon. He liked a steady rhythm, and he didn’t force his way down Scor’s throat or insist on staying there so long that breathing became an issue. He let Scor take his own initiative and use his own judgment. 

Scor could spend hours worshiping Hugo’s cock and still come away hungry for more, regardless of the inevitable ache in his jaw.

Conversation continued to flow above and around Scorpius, though his masters’ words ceased to have any real meaning for him. But he could feel Hugo’s words, down to the most minute vibrations - they seemed to transmit themselves through Hugo’s cock, into Scor’s mouth, and through him to his own cock, which ached, untouched, against his stomach.

Scor’s hips began to move, uselessly seeking some sort of friction, though of course all he found was empty air.

“…like a bitch in heat,” someone said above him. A laugh rumbled through Hugo and into Scor, where it transfigured itself into a low, needy moan before transmitting back again.

A blunt fingertip, cool and slick, pressed against Scor’s arsehole before slipping easily inside.

“…still loose…like a fucking girl…”

The fingertip was quickly joined by another, which seemed to move independently of the first. They probed eagerly inside Scor’s body, stretching and teasing, until one of them struck upon the little bundle of nerves that sent lightning sparking through him. He all but screamed around his mouthful of cock.

“Fuck,” said Hugo, thrusting his hips forward so that the head of his cock scraped roughly against the back of Scor’s throat. “Don’t stop.”

The fingers ruthlessly caressed Scor’s prostate, drawing ever more needy, desperate sounds from him. Pre-come dribbled from his cock, slicking his belly, sliding down his shaft to tickle his balls. Then, just as he thought he might come from those fingers alone, they withdrew. 

Scor barely had time to mourn the loss before broad hands gripped his hips. Something harder, blunter, and thicker replaced those fingers, stretching him open in a long, slow, burning glide.

“Breathe.” Hugo’s hands tightened in Scor’s hair, pulling his head up so that his mouth slid off of Hugo’s cock with a thick wet ‘pop’. He pressed forward, trying to get that cock back into his mouth, but Hugo held him off.

“Breathe,” Hugo said again, as James rocked his hips, pushing his cock another inch deeper into Scor’s arse.

Scor sucked in a huge, gulping breath of air.

“Please, Sir,” he whispered in between his sobbing breaths. “Please, please let me suck your cock. I’m so hungry. Please.”

“Merlin,” James gasped, his breath hot against Scor’s neck. “Fuck.” He slid partway out, then gave a quick, hard, thrust, seating himself fully inside Scorpius.

“Please, Sir, please,” Scor babbled. He couldn’t think, he could barely breathe, he was so full and so empty, all at the same time. He squirmed, trying to take James in deeper still. “Please, I need your cock in my mouth. I need to taste you, I need to swallow your come.”

“Shut him the fuck up, Hugo,” James growled, and finally, thankfully, Scor was permitted to fill his mouth with cock once more. He sucked greedily, relaxing his throat to take Hugo’s cock as deep as it could go.

It didn’t take long for James and Hugo to find a compatible rhythm, familiar as they were with Scor and with each other. Scor concentrated on breathing, as best he could anyway, while he was rocked back and forth between them. He felt whole, complete, replete, now that he was pleasantly stretched and full at both ends. His knees, slick with sweat, began to slip, but James’s hands hauled him upright and held him in place, just as Hugo’s hands in his hair kept him from falling too far forward.

His balls drew up tight, he was going to come, it was too perfect, he was so close--

\--until a callused hand gripped his balls and squeezed, and Scor screamed - not in pleasure this time, but in pain. Tears welled in his eyes and slipped down his cheeks, and his impending orgasm halted in its tracks.

“Don’t stop,” Hugo muttered, pulling at Scor’s hair. Immediately Scorpius snapped his focus away from the pain, and back to the blowjob he was giving, where it belonged.

His masters were so good to him for reminding him of his place. He was meant to submit, to give himself wholly to his masters’ pleasure. He was never meant to take for himself. That was the most important rule of his existence. How careless, how stupid of him to have forgotten.

When he could speak, he would beg his masters’ forgiveness, again and again until they punished him for it.

When Hugo came - hours, or seconds, or maybe it was only minutes later - Scor was careful to swallow every drop, moaning his gratitude at having been allowed to do so. When Hugo staggered away and Teddy took his place, Scor sobbed as he took Teddy’s cock into his mouth, relieved that he would still be permitted to serve despite his failings.

It didn’t take very long at all for Teddy to come. Scor was still swallowing Teddy’s spunk when James came in his arse with a hoarse shout.

Then Teddy was gone, and so was James, so that only Albus remained. Scor waited, panting softly through his burning throat, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Al grasped Scor under his arms and tugged, pulling him up onto his feet. Scor’s legs felt as though they were made of jelly; he staggered, but with Al’s help he managed to stay upright.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he whispered through his ravaged throat.

“Shhh.” Al stepped in close, pressing a kiss to the tip of Scor’s nose. His eyes were wide, the green nearly eclipsed by black. “You’ve done nothing to be sorry for.”

“I have,” Scor choked out. “I did.”

“Nothing,” Al repeated firmly. “You’ve done nothing.”

Scor wanted to protest, but Al’s mouth was on his, swallowing the words before they could properly form. Scorpius submitted meekly while Al nipped at his lips, then slipped his tongue between them. He seemed intent on mapping the contours of Scor’s mouth, exploring every crevice, tasting every nuance of flavor.

Finally he pulled back, his eyes searching Scor’s, though for what Scor couldn’t tell.

“A year and a day,” Al murmured.

Scorpius froze, a ripple of shock running through him.

“Sir?” he whispered.

“A year and a day. That’s what we agreed upon. You said it would be enough.” Al smiled. “You didn’t honestly think I’d forget, did you?”

“It’s...over?”

Al nodded. His smile slowly faded. “You didn’t notice.”

Scorpius hadn’t noticed. The days had all blended together, bundled up into a weekly rhythm that just repeated itself, over and over, until the passage of time had ceased to have any meaning for him. Scor’s duties included the tending of the back garden, of course, so he’d noticed the changing of the seasons - but only distantly, and in an abstract sense. Different seasons meant different duties. That was all. He had known that his service at Grimmauld Place would eventually come to an end, but he’d never thought past that, or considered what it might mean.

Scor didn’t realize he was crying until Albus leaned in to lick his tears away.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Al murmured. “Don’t cry. It’s over. You did it. It’s done.”

“No,” said Scor, trembling. He could still feel James’s spunk, slipping slowly down his thighs; he could still taste Hugo on his tongue, and Teddy-- And Albus still hadn’t come, he hadn’t made Albus come, he’d been so careless--

“I have to serve you, Sir,” he said. “I have to.”

“Don’t say that.” Al gripped Scor’s shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “You shouldn’t have to. You don’t - you didn’t have to serve us in the first place. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“My father--“

“Yes!” Al’s eyes glittered green, sharp as glass. “Your father, and my father, and blah fucking blah. But you don’t owe anything for that, and I’m not sharing you anymore!”

Scorpius blinked at him. A slow flush crept over Al's cheeks, but he did not back down. He stared defiantly at Scor, breathing hard.

“But…I need to serve,” Scor whispered. It had been good. He had been good. He’d known his place, and he’d known his worth. “Sir. Please.”

“Fine,” said Al, with an exasperated exhale. “You want to serve? You can serve me. But just me from now on, all right?” His hands tightened on Scor’s shoulders, hard enough to bruise. “We’ll get our own place. No more locks. No more games. No more fucking cupboard. Just you, and just me.”

“Yes, Sir.” Scor’s jelly-legs were threatening to give way again; light-headed, he clutched at Al’s arms for balance. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll take such good care of you, I’ll be so good to you, I swear--“

“Right, then,” said Al. Suddenly he was smiling again - and then he was laughing, sounding almost giddy. “I’m so glad that’s sorted. Now suck my cock, won’t you? I’m getting tired of waiting.”

Scorpius beamed at his master. “Yes, Sir,” he said, and sank gratefully to his knees.


End file.
